


Unexpected

by lha



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4987891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lha/pseuds/lha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsie-centric ensemble piece - mostly because I needed to counter the canon FLUFF.</p>
<p>She found him in her sitting room.  There had been nothing amiss, no indication than anything was wrong as she'd come through the house checking on her maids and his footmen as she did first thing every morning.  No one asked her if she'd seen him, no one seemed to be looking for him.  There had been no warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

She found him in her sitting room. There had been nothing amiss, no indication than anything was wrong as she'd come through the house checking on her maids and his footmen as she did first thing every morning. No one asked her if she'd seen him, no one seemed to be looking for him. There had been no warning.

She opened the door, her mind already on her ledgers, and stopped. The world seemed to stop with her too before falling away at the sight of him lying there. Lying on her rug, arm stretched towards her desk, eyes open frozen in fear and pain. There was no doubt in her mind that he was gone in that instant. She looked at him and in a moment that must have lasted minutes saw the spot of wine on his shirt he'd lamented the evening before as she had left him in his pantry, felt the gentle kiss he'd laid on her cheek as she'd retired. Knew that he'd been there all night. Lying on the floor of her sitting room. Alone.

She wasn't sure how long it took her to move, to breath even, but she must have because suddenly she was back in the hallway, a closed door behind her, speaking quietly to Thomas.  
"Would you be so good as to phone for the doctor, Mr Barrow."   
"The doctor?"  
"Or perhaps just the undertakers..." she thought out loud before reaching a decision. "No, I suppose His Lordship should be informed first."  
"I'm not sure I'm following you, Mrs Hughes..." The young man said tentatively.  
"Is there a problem?" Mr Bates asked, entering through the back door with Anna behind him. Swallowing, Elsie tried to construct a sentence that would convey what it was she needed to say.  
"I need someone to wake His Lordship and tell him.... to inform him that Mr Carson... that it appears he passed away during the night." The silence that followed seemed heavy.   
"What happened?" "Where...?" The two men seemed to speak at once.  
"I..." she began, but this time the words wouldn't come and she gestured vaguely to the closed door behind her. She turned away before Mr Bates could open the door again to find Anna standing at her elbow.  
"Let's get you sat down," the younger woman said softly, guiding her towards the servants hall. "Daisy? Can we have some tea, and could you ask Mrs Patmore to come through?" Her light tone seemed forced, Daisy's unease plain and Elsie wanted desperately to say something, anything that might make it better but she seemed frozen, stuck, as though she was watching from the other side of a thick glass window.  
This thought must have taken some time to emerge as the next thing she was aware of was her hands being wrapped around a warm cup and Mrs Patmore's muffled cry from behind her as Mr Bates appeared in the doorway and gave a solemn nod.  
"I'll wake His Lordship and break the news," he said, "Thomas is going to phone for Doctor Clarkson."  
She nodded, afraid to open her mouth. He was gone.

*****

Anna bit the inside of her lip but even so, could feel the tears spill down her cheeks as her husband spoke. Just a few minutes ago they had been walking up the path together talking of the weather, the early light and the warmth of the spring sun. The change in temperature as they'd stepped into the house had been caused be more than stepping out of the early morning rays though. When she'd stepped around John, one look at the housekeeper had told her something was seriously wrong, her face was composed but her eyes glazed and all colour gone from her complection. Reaching out, Anna placed a hand on the elder woman's arm but didn't receive any acknowledgement and glanced up at the cook who was leaning on the back of a chair, her hand still at her mouth. The connection seemed to spur Mrs Patmore into action at least and she pulled out the chair next to Mrs Hughes,  
"Eh love," she began "let's get some of that tea into you now." The elder woman looked from the teacup in her hands, back up at the cook.  
"Oh... Yes, of course," she lifted the china to her lips and wet them if nothing more. The action seemed to have brought her out of herself however and she glanced around the hall.  
"Thomas is..?"  
"It's all in hand," Anna tried to reassure her but could only imagine what was going through the other woman's head beneath the unnatural stillness. She and John had both been through so much, had lived with the thought of losing each other for so long, but to never have even had the chance to wed. It was horrible and so terribly unfair, she thought, her mind drifting to the dress that was hanging in the parlour of the cottage. Of how hard she had had to cajole the other woman before she agreed to having something new for her wedding day. Of how there would be no wedding at all now.  
They all jumped at a crash, a ringing clatter from the kitchen, and as the sound faded away it was replaced by hiccuping tears.  
"Daisy," Mrs Hughes seemed to breathe, turning towards the door and down the corridor.  
"I'll go see to her," the cook said, pushing herself up on the table. "I'm so very sorry Elsie," she said, squeezing her friend's shoulder before moving on. They sat in silence again listening to the soft sounds coming from the kitchen for a moment before Mrs Hughes trembled, shuddering almost, and sending the cooling tea splashing across the table.  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't be silly, let me get that," she said standing and hurrying off to the kitchen for a cloth. It seemed that the news had spread given the number of hushed conversations she passed on her way along the corridor and she spotted the new footman, Andrew, standing at the bottom of the stairs talking quietly to everyone who came down. Thomas was placed resolutely in front of Mrs Hughes door obviously determined that no one should accidentally or intentionally, enter. His entire demeanor was stiff, too forced for someone who spent so much of their working life at attention. He caught her eye and his mouth twitched into something between a grin and a grimace before he returned to his previous stance. In the kitchen, Mrs Patmore had her assistant bundled up in her embrace, both women crying softly. Anna picked up a cloth from the table and hurried back to the servants hall that was still empty apart from the housekeeper,   
"It must be past breakfast time," Mrs Hughes said, looking up suddenly from the puddle of tea on the table and straight up at her. "Would you ask Mrs Patmore to serve as soon as she's able? I'll set the table," she held a hand out for the cloth but Anna paused.   
"You don't have to," she said crossing the distance between them.  
"Some of the staff will have been working for hours and we need to try and keep some routine. Thank you though," she added reaching out to run a hand down Anna's arm in a gesture of comfort that brought her heart into her mouth.

*****

"What on earth..." Robert protested, rousing himself from bed and pulling on dressing gown and slippers. "Bates?" he asked on opening the door just enough to see the other man "Whatever is the matter? The sun's barely..." he trailed off seeing the look on his valet's face. "What is it?"  
"I'm sorry to disturb you My Lord, but we thought you'd want to know. Mr Carson is... that is, Mr Carson's body was found this morning. It looks like he must have passed away late last night."  
"Carson's dead?" Even saying the words out loud, they still didn't ring true. The butler had been such an unchanging part of his life for so long, a constant in his campaign against the erosion of the past that the Earl struggled to imagine Downton without him.  
"Robert?" Cora asked, sitting up.  
"It... It seems that Carson's passed away."  
"Oh how dreadful!" She slipped out of bed and pulling on her own robe. "Whatever happened Bates?" She asked, coming to stand behind him her hand resting on the small of his back.  
"We're not entirely sure Your Ladyship, Mrs Hughes found him this morning. It doesn't look as though he made it upstairs last night."  
"She must be devastated," Cora breathed.  
"Quite," he agreed, "Clarkson will need to be called I suppose," he continued musing aloud.  
"Mr Barrow is telephoning for him now Milord, we thought it best not to delay."  
"Yes, yes of course. I suppose... and we'll use Grasby's."  
"Of course Milord,"  
"We'll dress and have tea as soon as it's practical Bates," Cora instructed after another moments silence, "and Mary must be told." Robert turned to look at his wife but she simply squeezed his arm and he knew that she was right, their eldest had always been particularly close to the butler.  
"Anna's with Mrs Hughes currently," his valet began tactfully.  
"Then she must stay there," Cora said emphatically, "Oh Robert," it was an aside and although he gave himself no airs in his ability to read women, he knew his wife well enough to understand what that tone meant and he agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. Carson had been a new man, beneath his professional façade, since he had announced his engagement and Robert knew the only thing that brought about a change like that. It seemed unthinkable that he should die now just when he had discovered this love and scant weeks before his marriage. "No," Cora continued, "if Baxter is able to come up I'll go to Mary as soon as I'm dressed. And we must make sure that Dr Clarkson sees Mrs Hughes while he's here."  
"Of course, My Lady. If you'll excuse me, Milord?" Robert nodded his assent, allowing the door to close as his valet retreated downstairs.  
"How terribly sad," he said, turning back to Cora.  
"He wasn't unwell was he?" she asked, taking his hand and leading him back to the edge of their bed.  
"Not that I knew, but I suppose he wasn't exactly young and he certainly worked hard."  
"Still though," she perched on the edge of the mattress, "we'll have to be terribly understanding Robert, this is bound to unsettle the staff."  
"Hmmmm," he agreed, sitting next to her and suddenly having a horrible thought about whether Barrow was currently in charge of the house. "Mary will be heartbroken," he said after another still silence "Sometimes it feels as though she is far fonder of Carson than she is of me."  
"That's not true and you know it," Cora chided him gently, "he was wonderful with all the girls though." Robert nodded, remembering Sybil's passion for playing horsey on the butler's back and Edith's insistence that she must show him her latest drawing. His daughters' fascination with the bear of a man had puzzled him but he had realised that despite his physically intimidating presence, he was always there, always calm and always gentle with them. Somehow, Carson had managed to get them to follow rules with much more success than he did himself; the horsey only ever galloped through the corridors downstairs, pictures were best admired in the butler's pantry and Mary, at least as a child, had never sought him out while he was on duty upstairs. "Mama will need to be told as well, but there's no point in waking her or Edith yet," he continued, pulling himself from his own thoughts.  
"I'll send a note to the Dower House," Cora offered, squeezing his hand and leaning into his side, "and we can call Edith later." Baxter's knock broke them from their quiet revere some indeterminate time later.

******

John Bates watched with surprise and not a little respect as Thomas processed their orders before speaking,  
"Miss Baxter has gone up to her Ladyship?" John nodded, and the other man turned to the first footman, "Mr Molesley, can I ask you to make sure there's tea in the library?" His tone was quiet and courteous, lacking any of his usual arrogance.  
"Of course," Molesley replied with a solemn nod before turning to the kitchen.  
"Do you think the library is right?" The younger man asked, turning towards John his hesitation plain on his face.  
"I do," he agreed, "I'll go back up to dress his Lordship and let him know that's where it's being set." He got a tight lipped nod in response.

His Lordship was quiet as he dressed, his melancholy unspoken but easy to read. The house itself seemed strangely quiet, the usual bustle of the daily maids subdued as the news had obviously spread.  
"I'll go down to the library to wait for the women, it's too early to call London but I'll ring Edith in a bit."  
"Milord," he acknowledged.  
"Can you ask Clarkson to come up and see me when he's done?"  
"Of course Milord, will there be anything else?" He asked, collecting His Lordship's night things.   
"I'm sure there will be upset below stairs, but if anyone is behaving... if there are problems you'll be sure to let me know." Thomas's name didn't even need mentioned at this stage.  
"Naturally Milord, but I think we might be pleasantly surprised." Lord Grantham raised an eyebrow at this but said no more.

Andrew was standing at the foot the basement stairs when he returned, and they acknowledged each other silently before the younger man gestured along the corridor to where Thomas was showing the doctor into Mrs Hughes' room. Anna came out of the servants hall, stopping to lean up and peck his cheek.  
"She's told me to get them to serve breakfast," she sounded uncertain.  
"Well we'll all need to eat, whether we feel like it or not. It's going to be a long day, I think."  
"But at least I'll have you to come home to," her voice was unsteady and he couldn't resist the urge to embrace her if only for a moment. "I suppose you're right," Anna continued, before glancing back over her shoulder, "She's setting the table. Trying to stay busy, I suppose." Squeezing her arm, he stood aside and let her passed. John stepped into the doorway of the hall and Mrs Hughes looked up and offered him a brief tremulous smile.  
"Would you ask everyone to come in?"  
"Of course, Mrs Hughes." He watched as a red eyed Daisy arrived, putting down the porridge pot before rushing at the housekeeper, clinging to her briefly before turning on her heel. Without him having to do or say anything, the others had started drifting in and everyone that did, was offered a quiet word or gentle reassurance as they settled around the table. Mrs Patmore arrived beside him with the teapot,  
"She'll not hold it back forever."  
"No, but it might help her to get through, for now."  
"Hmmm, we'll see," the cook replied, heading in towards the table.

*****

Richard Clarkson stepped out of the housekeeper's room, to find Barrow standing directly outside.  
"Dr Clarkson," the former soldier said, turning towards him but keeping his gaze high enough not to see the body through the closing door.  
"I'll just wash-up Barrow, and then I'll speak to Mrs Hughes if there's somewhere..." he glanced along towards the butler's pantry.  
"Perhaps the kitchen? I'll see that it's empty," the under-butler suggested obviously disconcerted at the thought of Carson's room.  
"Fine," Richard agreed. Having washed up he stepped into the kitchen just as the housekeeper came in the far door.  
"Please, take a seat Mrs Hughes," he began, gesturing towards the table and chair against the wall. She sat, and he took a moment to look over the woman before him. She had obviously had a shock, and no matter how well she was covering it, her pallor, the tremor in her hand and her skittish glazed gaze gave it away. Mrs Patmore appeared quietly at the other woman's shoulder and they shared a quiet nod.  
"Can you tell me anything about last night, Mrs Hughes? Was there anything unusual?"  
"We," she began,her eyes firmly fastened somewhere over his left shoulder, "the day was not very remarkable. It is, was, our habit to finish the evening with a glass of wine in his pantry, should there have been any left from dinner. We didn't speak of anything of great significance really; a little of the wedding, of the children in the nursery and young Master George's sudden interest in pig farming." A soft smile flitted across her face momentarily and her gaze drifted to meet his before her lip wobbled and she bit down on it. It was a moment before she took an unsteady breath and continued, "I was rather tired, I'd been up early to see to the daily maids so I went up first. Mr Carson was staying down a little longer to update the wine ledger. He... when he bid me goodnight he promised he wouldn't be long. I made him promise." Mrs Patmore squeezed the other womans shoulder, a hand to her mouth and tears in her eyes but the housekeeper simply bowed her head, her hands twisted together on the table.  
"Thank you Mrs Hughes and I'm very sorry for your loss. I can assure you that there was likely very little to be done. There may well have been no warning and it would have been quick when it did come."  
"Thank you," she said with a terse nod. He knew what he was offering was of little comfort, anyone who had seen Carson's face, as she undoubtedly had, would have seen the pain and fear that had come before death.  
"I had best go up and see Lord Grantham," he said, picking up his bag, "but do try and take it easy Mrs Hughes. Get some rest if you can." The doctor wasn't naive enough to think that she'd follow his advice, any more than he had on any other occasion he'd felt it necessary to give, but he hoped that her friend might take it to heart.

Mr Barrow escorted him up to the library and sent Molesley away before pouring tea.  
"He would have passed away late last night," Clarkson began, taking the cup and saucer that was offered to him. "From what Mrs Hughes said, she left him in his pantry when she went up to bed and there was nothing amiss then."  
"Whatever was he doing in Mrs Hughes pantry, if she had already gone up to bed?" Lady Mary asked, absently holding out her cup to be refilled.  
"He may have known something was wrong and gone there on instinct," he suggested, "or he may have been there already when he was taken ill. I don't think we'll ever know for sure but I am settled that it was a natural death so there'll be no problem issuing the certificate."  
"Thank goodness for that," Lord Grantham said, turning away from the window. "Have we called Grasby's, Barrow?"  
"Yes, My Lord, they should be here shortly."  
"Good," the earl replied.  
"How was Mrs Hughes, Dr Clarkson?"   
"She's had a horrible fright, Your Ladyship. She is composed for now though."  
"We must speak to her Robert, make sure she knows everything will be taken care of. Could you ask her to come up Barrow, if she's feeling well enough?"  
"My Lady," he replied with an incline of his head before turning and leaving the room. Clarkson had had more than his fair share of run ins with the family and while he often wondered about their methods, he knew they did at least care.  
"Surely there must have been some sign?" Lady Mary asked, her tone clipped. "Some indication? Had he been to see you lately?"  
"Mary," Lady Grantham interjected, "don't subject Doctor Clarkson an inquisition."  
"Well, it's ridiculous," she said standing forcefully and sweeping across the room to deposit her cup and saucer back on the tray, "It's 1925 for pitty's sake, people shouldn't just die walking across a carpet!" Richard knew that the young woman was more than familiar with the lack of fairness there was in the world, how could she not be after her family's own experiences. Increasingly however, he found that his patients and their relatives were expecting more of science and medicine; that there should be a treatment for every ailment, that death should come with notice and always with an explanation. Unfortunately, he often couldn’t provide them with all of the answers they wanted.

****

Mrs Hughes was standing outside when Thomas found her and he watched from the doorway for a moment or two hoping to gauge how she really was away from the eyes of the others. She was still, almost unnaturally so, as she stood and looked out over the courtyard wall. He'd never really thought on how small she was, she'd never seemed petite even next Mr Carson, but now, standing alone like this she looked suddenly delicate. Stepping out onto the flags, the sound of his shoes upon the stone broke the illusion and she turned to face him.  
"Mr Barrow," her tone was hollow and her eyes equally empty but her gaze was steady.  
"They've asked for you upstairs, if you're feeling up to it?" He almost wanted her to say that she could not face it, wanted her to admit that she was as devastated as he knew she must be. Whether he had liked it or not, there had been no denying that the relationship between Mr Carson and the housekeeper, or their feelings, were genuine. She'd been good to him, and even at her sharpest he had known she had been trying look out for him and so he had been glad to see her bloom under the butler's attention.  
"Of course," she said instead, turning to re-enter the house. 

Thomas opened the door to the library, ushering the housekeeper through before he closed it again and came to stand just behind her shoulder.  
"Please, Mrs Hughes, won't you take a seat?"  
"I'm quite alright standing, thank you, Your Ladyship."  
"Well, if you're sure," the Countess said, unconvinced, "We just want you to know how very, very sorry we are for your loss."   
"Thank you ma'am, he... Charles Carson was a good man and he'll be well missed." Her voice trembled and her clasped hands shook but she didn't falter.  
"You are quite right Mrs Hughes," His Lordship agreed, "we'll see to everything of course. He will be accorded all the respect he's due for all his many years loyal service."  
"That's very good of you, Your Lordship. He would appreciate that greatly." Her responses were polite but automatic.  
"I've spoken to Travis, but you must be sure that you're happy with the arrangements though, as his widow."  
"I'm sorry to correct your Lordship," Mrs Hughes said firmly, "but we were never married. I was not his wife and never will be now and so, I cannot be called his widow. Never that." Thomas knew her distress was plain in her tone, but her shoulders were still square her words quiet and steady.  
"My dear woman," he countered, stepping forward only to pause akwardly before touching her.  
"I'm sorry, my Lord, but it is true. I'm sure Mr Carson would have agreed with whatever you think best. " There was a silence that seemed to expand to fill the room, pushing out the air. "If I might be excused?" Mrs Hughes asked eventually.  
"But..." His Lordship began to protest, once again to stop. "Of course you may be excused, Mrs Hughes." She inclined her head and was gone before Thomas could get to the door to open it for her.  
"Well done, Papa. Terribly well done."  
"Mary!" Her Ladyship scolded.  
"As I said," began Dr Clarkson, "Mrs Hughes has had a terrible shock."  
"Of course she has, and I spoke carelessly," Lord Grantham said sitting heavily on the couch.  
"You meant well," his wife said shifting closer to him, "and we can't fault Mrs Hughes. Surely she can't stay so composed?"  
"It's only a matter of time," Clarkson said and Thomas certainly agreed, "and without wanting to sound dramatic, the longer she puts it off the worse the fallout is likely to be."  
"If only she would allow herself to," Her Ladyship sighed.  
"Sometimes," Lady Mary barely whispered, "you feel so much that it's simply easier to try and bury it all rather than face it." It was easy to forget sometimes, that Lady Mary was so familiar with grief herself.  
"I'll leave something with Barrow to help her rest should she need it," Clarkson said, standin  
"Thank you, Clarkson," His Lordship stood to shake the other man’s hand.  
"My condolences to you all," he said in farewell, before Thomas led him back out of the library. "Barrow," he continued when they were alone. "Take these," he reached into his case before handing him a number of folded packets, "you might want to trust them to Mrs Patmore but you know where to find me if I'm needed." He nodded in response, knowing that however much he might want to help, that the cook would likely be better placed for the judicious application of sleeping powders. No, his job was to try and keep the house running. Just as Mr Carson would have wanted.

*****

Beryl watched from the shadow of the kitchen door as Elsie clipped down the stairs, only to pause on the last step. After a moment, she seemed almost to shake herself before continuing down and into the servants hall where the low murmuring quickly fell away.  
"I'm sure we've all got work to be getting on with," she said softly but firmly, "and I'm also sure that Mr Carson wouldn't want us to neglect our duties for his sake. So, as soon as you're done, let's try and get on. Girls, the bedrooms are all empty and ready to be made up. Daisy, let Mrs Patmore know that I expect they'll all be ready to breakfast shortly. Molesley, can I ask you to relieve Mr Barrow upstairs so that he might eat as well?" There was a flurry of ascents and the scraping of chairs in response and Daisy hurried along the corridor.   
"I don't understand how she can say that," she said with a sniff, "that Mr Carson would want us to get on. Surely he'd want us to be sad that he's gone?" The young girl was crying again but before she could go to comfort her, Elsie had appeared at her back.   
"Of course he would," she said turning the young girl into her embrace "and we are, so very very sad." She swallowed thickly closing her eyes, before stepping back. "But nothing soothes a troubled soul like hard work and there will be time, more than enough time over the coming days for us to stop and miss him."  
"Amen to that," Beryl agreed, "Now away and fetch the egg mixture so we can finish the upstairs breakfast." Daisy gave them a watery smile before she scurried away. The cook turned back to her friend and was struck but just how weary the other woman looked. "There'd be no shame in it if you were to take to your bed," she said quietly, "you needn't be alone. Daisy could manage without me or I'm sure Anna would sit with you..."  
"Thank you," she said, reaching out to take hold of Beryl's hand, "but I'd really rather... I just need to keep busy." She let go with a gentle squeeze and the Yorkshire woman couldn't help but feel that she was the one being reassured.

Over the coming days, the housekeeper certainly managed to achieve her desired business. Beryl rarely saw her still, and when she was it was because she was reassuring a teary maid or having a quiet word with one of the hall boys. She had always been the matriarch and now more than ever they all seemed to turn to her and if they did not then she would seek them out. If she were honest, she spent her days on tenterhooks waiting for Thomas to revert to his usual casual cruelness or for some small, thing to breach the wall that Elsie seemed to have built to contain her own grief. But instead the under-butler was quietly conscientious, deferential almost, in his interactions with the housekeeper and while surrounded by an air of melancholy, she simply didn't stop. 

Two days before the funeral, Beryl came down to find an anxious Daisy filling the kettle;  
"Whatever's gotten into you?" She asked, tying her apron behind her back.  
"I'm making tea for Mrs Hughes," she said placing the kettle on the range and turning to the tray.  
"Well that's a kindness, did you you think I wouldn't approve?"  
"No," she said almost petulantly, placing milk jug and sugar bowl next the cup and saucer on the tray and fidgeting with them until she seemed to find the courage to continue. "I'm going to take it out to the laundry."  
"What on earth..?" She began before her brain caught up with her mouth. One if the girls from the village had been out sick the day before and the other was a new wife six months gone but that didn't really explain why the housekeeper was out there herself.  
"I went out to get fresh cloths and she was already out there, running sheets through the mangle." Which meant they'd already been washed, or at least rinsed through if they'd been left to soak, and the sun was a way off rising yet.   
"You make the tea Daisy and I'll take it across." Her assistant nodded, biting her lip but seeming happy enough to relinquish the delivery itself. Beryl didn't blame her, while the scot's temper had been as absent as her tears since Mr Carson's death, the cook would have been no more surprised to face one than the other when she confronted Elsie. 

The heat of the steam had brought some colour back to the ither woman's pale cheeks, and caused her hair to curl around her face.   
"Just in time," she said, hoisting a basket of folded damp linen onto her hip, "you can help me peg these out." Beryl put the tray down and stood, arms folded in the door.  
"What exactly is it you're doing?"  
"Well I was going to hang these sheets out to dry, it should be a good day for it."  
"And how would you know that? You've been in here since before the lark."  
"It needed done," the other woman said calmly.  
"Not by you it didn't," she said shortly, her frustration mounting, "you should have been sleeping."  
"Well I wasn't and it's done now," she retorted, managing to sound perfectly reasonable. "So, will you help me hang these out or not?" With a sigh, Beryl uncrossed her arms and looking around, picked up the bag of pegs.  
"You know the doctor left something," she tried again once they were outside fighting with the breeze, "to help you get some rest."  
"I know, I'd just... I'd rather stay busy," Elsie said, turning to look at her along the sheet they were pinning out. "I'll be fine." Beryl wasn’t nearly so sure.

*****

Phyllis Baxter had seen loss and grief throughout her life. Had seen what it could do to a household, seen the way it could change people for the better and for the worse. She saw now, what it was doing to Thomas, how the mantle of responsibility seemed to have smoothed the chips on his shoulders. He came out of the housekeeper's room with the butler's ledger beneath his arm and a thoughtful look on his face.  
"Good afternoon Miss Baxter," he said absently as he poured himself tea.  
"Mr Barrow," she acknowledged, watching him quietly over her repairs. She knew that this couldn't be easy for him, that he must miss his mentor for all that their relationship had been tumultuous. But he looked better now than he had done at lunch, no doubt due the quiet reassurance he'd received while he'd been with Mrs Hughes.  
"How are the plans coming for tomorrow?" She asked, knowing that he'd met with His Lordship that morning.  
"Settled I think, there's to be sherry and bits in the great hall after the service for anyone who wants. I've asked Andrew and Daisy to come back to the house with me in good time but most of the staff will be free to join the group."  
"If there's anything I can do," she offered, putting down her sewing.  
"No, thank you though Miss Baxter. I just want to make sure that everything goes as well as possible. That Mr Carson would be pleased."  
"I'm sure he would be touched at your thoughtfulness," she said hoping to reassure him.  
"Let's hope so, I'll be in the cellar if anyone's looking for me," he said, before turning to go.  
"I know he'd be proud of how hard you're trying," she said and he paused for a moment but didn't turn around.

She hadn't been back at her work long when Mrs Patmore bustled into the hall.  
"No sign of Mrs Hughes?" she asked, gesturing to the tea and the unusual plate of shortbread biscuits that was sitting out. It was not surprising that the cook was trying to tempt the other woman given that she'd showed little interest in their usual meals. The housekeeper had sat with them at the table, tried to encourage light conversation and even managed to do a passable impression of eating what was put in front of her as long as nobody looked to closely. It was hardly surprising though when you considered the gaping kasam of the empty seat at the head of the table.  
"I'm afraid not," she replied,"I thought I might go into the village before the dressing gong though, and I could take a tray in when I let her know?" Mrs Patmore looked at her a moment before wiping her hands on her apron.  
"We'll make a fresh pot," she said turning back towards the kitchen.

"Come in," the soft scottish brogue instructed when she knocked on the sitting room door. Short of pausing on the threshold the first time the other woman had reentered it that first afternoon, Mrs Hughes had seemed determined to use the room as normal. The ladies maid had to respect her strength as she forced her own eyes away from the floor. "Miss Baxter, what can I do for you?" She was greeted with a warm but tired smile.  
"I wanted to let you know that I'm going into the village," she began, "and to bring you some tea."  
"That's very kind," the housekeeper said, standing and clearing a space on her desk, "here. Not only tea I see."  
"Ah, no..." Phyllis said with a smile. Somewhere between the water being put back on to boil and her leaving the kitchen, various other tempting morsels had been found and added to the tray to tempt Mrs Hughes. The maid watched the slightly nauseous look that passed the other woman's face, before she picked up the teapot.  
"Will you join me?" she asked.  
"Thank you Mrs Hughes," she said, accepting the cup made exactly how she preferred. "Did you find what you were looking for last night?" she asked as they sat back down. A moment of confusion flitted across the exhausted features before her, before the pieces seemed to come together.  
"Ah, no... not in the end." Phyllis had gone into the linen store that morning to fetch a fresh towel ready for when Her Ladyship rang, only to find the room in organised chaos and Mrs Hughes at the centre. The housekeeper had claimed to have gone looking for something and, having not been able to find it, had decided that it was past time that there was an inventory and reorganisation. Her instinct had told her at the time that this was busywork, a distraction for the difficult hours before she could begin her daily routine. Still, the two women sat in silence for a few minutes enjoying their tea and Phyllis hoped that it brought the other woman some comfort.

*****

"How have things been downstairs today, Baxter?" Cora asked as her maid began removing the pins from her hair.  
"Much the same, Your Ladyship," the other woman replied, focusing on her work. "I believe Mr Barrow has everything under control for tomorrow."  
"His Lordship mentioned that Thomas seems to be getting on well," Cora said, hoping to tempt Baxter into sharing more. While she had never been able to take what it was O'Brien said without a pinch of salt, she had been much quicker to share the gossip.  
"He does, Milady. Sometimes, it takes difficult circumstances before people show their true worth."  
"Mmmm," Cora agreed. While neither she or Robert were very fond of the under-butler, there was no denying that he had often come through in moments of crisis. This week though, his quiet solemn presence had felt different enough for even Robert to comment upon it.   
"And how is Mrs Hughes? She looked simply dreadful when I saw her earlier." Cora watched in the mirror as the other woman carefully considered her response.  
"Tired, Your Ladyship," she finally said, the hairbrushing pausing in its repetitions as she looked up to meet her employers gaze. "I think she's weary with a grief that will not let her rest." That was certainly something Cora could understand. The days after her darling Sybil had died were mostly a blur but she knew how completely it was possible to loose one's self. Cora had tried to sleep, to stop from thinking, and had taken what the doctor had offered gladly but she supposed that work might provide a similar shelter. Mrs Patmore had spoken to her about finding Mrs Hughes in the laundry when they had met the previous day to discuss the menus, her concern bubbling forth in a barely contained stream. She was drawn from her thoughts as Baxter began brushing her hair again.  
"Has she taken any time herself? Confided in anyone?"  
"Not that I know of. Mrs Patmore did threaten to dose her tea this evening with one of Dr Clarkson's powders."  
"Well I hope it doesn't come to that," Cora said, "perhaps tomorrow and the funeral will force the issue."  
"I..." Baxter paused again, "Forgive me Your Ladyship, but I don't think that's likely."  
"Go on," she encouraged.   
"She... Mrs Hughes, has been reassuring people. Providing comfort. I wonder if maybe one of the reasons she hasn't let herself grieve is that she doesn't feel that she can. That she can't seem weak in front of the other staff." Cora considered what the other woman had said as her hair was fastened into a braid. Lord knew that sometimes she had put on a brave face for her daughters, or tried to at least, and she'd long since realised that their housekeeper was the mother-hen to all the younger staff. But if that was the case then something was going to have to change.

The next morning dawned cold, crisp and bright as only a spring morning could;  
"Perfect weather for a funeral," Robert said as they walked back to the cars, "Carson would have approved."  
"Well rather this than lashing rain," Mary said striding on out in front of them.  
"It was very dignified," Edith added, "I had forgotten how well known he was in the village."  
"There was a good turn out," Robert agreed. As their middle child drifted off to speak to her Grandmother, he continued. "Mrs Hughes was very subdued," he said quietly. "She doesn't look at all well, but I'm not sure she should."  
"No, she doesn't. I think we might have to intervene Robert," she said. The other woman had stood quietly flanked by Anna and Mrs Patmore throughout the ordeal of the service, her face translucent but her eyes dry as they focussed solely on the coffin. Almost as soon as people had begun to drift away however she had seemed to snap back into the present, laying a gentle hand on Anna's arm and turning to see that Barrow and the others were getting away.   
"I'm not sure that we can sit her down on a chair and demand that she acknowledge that her heart has been broken," Robert said blithely but not, she knew because he did not care.  
"We have methods less dramatic and much more sensible at our disposal Robert," the Dowager responded appearing next to them.   
"Of course you do, Mama," he acknowledged, cringing.  
"Now Cora dear," she continued, "Cousin Isobel and I would like a word." While this was not a phrase that had often filled Cora with cheer, she knew that there were worse allies to have and allowed herself to be guided off to one of the cars.

*****

Elsie Hughes had prepared herself for this. Had known that it would be a challenging day but she had been able to shore her defences up and because of that she had managed so far. Now that they were back at the Abbey she would be fine, she could escape and there was always something that needed done. Except that when she'd managed to get close to a door, Mr Molesley had handed her a glass of sherry and gently steered her back into the midst of the mourners in the great hall. People kept migrating towards her, and while she tried to divert their attention away from herself, the wedding that would never been and how she was coping, it was not working nearly so well as she would have liked. How to make them understand that she didn't want to think about it long enough to answer their questions. She pushed the rising distress back down, it wouldn't do to make a scene, he wouldn't want her to make a fuss, what good could come of it. It would be over soon,  
"Ah, Mrs Hughes," unless she was caught by the Dowager Countess.  
"Your Ladyship, Mrs Crawley, can I be of assistance?" It was an automatic response, but she hoped that it might prove to steer the conversation.  
"I don't think so, Mrs Hughes." Mrs Crawley said, replacing the sherry glass Elsie had just placed on the tray Andrew was holding, with a fresh one. She felt like a bug under a looking glass as the Dowager made no effort to hide her assessment of her.  
"Mama, Cousin Isobel," Lady Grantham said, appearing from within the crowd. "I didn't expect you to pounce on poor Mrs Hughes at the first opportunity."  
"Sometimes it's best to address these things quickly once they've brought to the surface," the Dowager said with a characteristic pursing of her lips.  
"If I've done something to displease Your Ladyship," she began, suddenly panicking that there was something she had missed, an oversight that was about to become apparent...  
"Why don't we retire to the library," Lady Cora suggested, holding an arm out to guide the way. Elsie moved as she was instructed, her thoughts trying to race away with themselves through the treacle of her mind. Before she had really caught up with events, all four of them were sitting on the settees next to the fire. She was perched on the edge of the seat, her back straight and the crystal of the sherry glass she was still holding biting into her fingers. Her eyes flicked between the three woman but she couldn't see anything to hint at what it was they were going to say.  
"Mrs Hughes," Lady Cora said drawing her attention.  
"Your Ladyship?"  
"I want you to take a little time away from the house." It felt like she had been plunged into an icy loch as the statement washed over her.  
"If I've failed to fulfill my duties, disappointed you in any way Your Ladyship," she stuttered.  
"Enough," Her Ladyship interrupted, reaching across the seat to place a hand on her arm. "You have done nothing of the sort, Mrs Hughes. No one could ever criticise your dedication to your role, or this house, even during these last trying days." Elsie let her head slump between her shoulders, she couldn't fathom what she was supposed to think, couldn't find the words.  
"Mrs Hughes?" Mrs Crawley sounded far away, but as Elsie closed her eyes and breathed deeply for the moment the room seemed to come back to her.  
"I'm sorry, Milady, I'm really not following," she said to her employer.  
"All Lady Grantham is suggesting, is that you take a few days away from your duties," Mrs Crawley continued. "I'd like it very much if you would come and stay with me a while so you can rest and recover a little."  
"I appreciate your kindness and your concern, Your Ladyship. And yours Mrs Crawley," she said. "But I'd really rather keep busy and with so much disruption below stairs already, I really wouldn't want to be away for any length of time."  
"What we want and what we need Mrs Hughes, are not always the same things," the Dowager suddenly spoke up. "You have suffered a great loss, one that Mrs Crawley and I may come close to understanding, but you must acknowledge it before you can begin to heal. Carson was a good man and he will be sorely missed by many in this family but none more so than by you."  
"I have no claim... that is, we were never..."  
"What the law says, and what the heart feels are two entirely different things," Mrs Crawley said,"and I think that in any other circumstances you would see that for yourself." She was still trying to process this when Lady Cora, whose hand she only now realised was still resting on her arm, began to speak.  
"Now, I've spoken to Mrs Patmore and she'll pack some things for you. Anna and Baxter are going to cover your duties and while I'm sure we'll miss you, we will manage while you are gone." Elsie lowered her gaze again, chewing on the inside of her lip, trying to ground herself. "You are very dear to us Mrs Hughes, though I'm not sure how to make you realise that." Elsie didn't either, though she wished she did.

*****

Isobel Crawley guided her docile charge out of the car and towards the front door. Since the hesitant, jerky nod of assent she'd given, back in the library of the big house, the other woman hadn't uttered a word. Had been almost entirely passive as Isobel had led her downstairs to find her hat and coat and when Mrs Patmore had met them to hand over her case. It was almost as though now that someone else had taken charge, she had shut down completely.  
"Let's get you inside," Isobel said "and I think, straight to bed?" She paused at the resistance against her hand.  
"I can't..." The face of the smaller woman looked up at her, frowning. "You shouldn't have to..."  
"Nonsense," Isobel said practically. "I want to help." Wrapping her arm around trembling shoulders, she ushered the other woman through the door and in the direction of the stairs. The nurse in her had taken one look at Mrs Hughes across the graveside that morning and heard warning bells. It had looked like all that was keeping her upright then was sheer force of will but without that it was only a matter of time.

She took them straight into the guest bedroom which was warmed from the midday sun.  
"I'll leave you to go get changed while I go and fetch some tea." The scot nodded and Isobel left her to go and put together a tray, hoping that a few minutes alone might help her acclimatise. She spoke with Janie and Mrs Rae when she got down to the kitchen and neither woman seemed in any way surprised or put out by the new house guest. Whether this said more about what they had come to expect of their eccentric employer or their own respect for Mrs Hughes, she couldn't say but she was reassured that she wasn't about to have to fight a battle on that front also. When she returned upstairs, she knocked on the bedroom door and openned it, before thanking the maid and taking the tray.  
"This is very good of you Mrs Crawley," the housekeeper said, straightening the covers over her lap, "I'm sorry to have put you out."  
"No more of that," she said, placing the tray on the bedside table and taking a seat next to the bed. "You've helped me on more occasions than I can name, least of all reminding me that I could have a purpose after Matthew's death. It's simply time for you to accept a little care from a friend in return." Isobel watched the emotions flit across the other woman's face before she caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded. She poured the tea, sweetening it on medical grounds before handing it to unsteady hands. "What you need to do now is try and rest, Mrs Hughes. Do you think you might sleep or would you like something to help?" she asked. As they had left the house, Mrs Patmore had handed her the sedatives Richard had prescribed but had gone unused.  
"I think I might need... yes." Isobel wasn't surprised by this answer but she was pleased. She emptied the powder into a water glass and diluted it.  
"Finish your tea and drink this up," she said placing the glass on the bedside table. "I'll stay until you're asleep, but if I'm not here when you wake then feel free to get up or not as you prefer." 

Isobel had waited to make sure her patient did fall asleep before slipping from the room. She spent the afternoon with a good book and ate her supper from a tray but paused outside the guest bedroom on her way to bed. There was the sound of gentle scratching coming from the far side and so she knocked,  
"Can I come in?" She asked.  
"Of course Mrs Crawley," came the quick response. When she entered, Mrs Hughes stood from the small writing desk. She was still in her nightdress and dressing gown, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders but while sleep had returned a little colour to her cheeks she seemed unsettled, anxious.  
"I just wanted you to check you had everything you needed," she said lightly.  
"I woke up so I thought I...you don't mind?" She glanced down at the desk and the notepaper she'd been using.  
"Not at all. What is it that you're working on?" Isobel asked, looking down at the careful list.  
"I'm just... I need to make sure that I've cancelled all the arrangements. For the wedding..." Her voice wobbled and she gripped the back of the chair as Isobel own heart wrenched. Cancelling the dentist for Reg had been dreadful enough. Rather than falter however it seemed that now that Elsie had spoken the words aloud she couldn't stop more from tumbling forth, "I think I've managed... I wrote to Rev. Travis, and to the Headmaster about the school hall. I sent a note to the gardener and I've cancelled the additional stores that Mrs Patmore had requested but... we were... we were going to have a few days away...after the wedding. Charles was determined that it would be a surprise, where we were going. He was teasing me..." she hiccupped, "... but I couldn’t guess. I couldn't guess where we were going and now I don't know." Wide wet eyes turned to look at Isobel, "I need to cancel the reservations but I don't know where they are..." And with this the tears came, flooding remorselessly down her cheeks as she folded in on herself, Isobel catching her and guiding them both to the floor. "... I can't... How could he?... It's not fair..." The only further words she could make out.

*****

Lady Mary stepped out of Crawley House and followed the path around the back. She spotted her quarry sitting on the bench beneath the apple tree, facing down towards the foot of the garden. Clearing her throat to give the other woman fair warning her approach, she stepped intl her line of sight.  
"Your Ladyship," Mrs Hughes said, standing abruptly. Mary waved her down.  
"Please do sit, I'm the one who's intruding. May I join you?"  
"Of course, Your Ladyship." Taking a seat on the bench at a slight angle, she studied the other woman.  
"It doesn't mean much," she began eventually, "but you look better."  
"I feel it too sometimes, Milady," the housekeeper said, offering her a gentle smile. "Though I'm not sure I've done more than cry or sleep for the last few days. I haven't been much of a house guest I'm afraid."  
"That's not how Cousin Isobel sees it," Mary said. "Nor Grandmama, for that matter." She'd left the pair of them inside drinking tea and no doubt planning or plotting something. She hadn't been particularly surprised when the Dowager had invited herself along this afternoon, but had appreciated when the older woman had encouraged Isobel to stay with her in the parlour while Mary had gone into the garden.

The two of them sat in silence, watching as a mother bird darted in and out of the hedge.  
"I don't know if he told you," she began, still watching the finch, "but Carson and I went into York together a few weeks ago." She paused, glancing across at the other woman before she continued. "He had some shopping to do and asked if I would accompany him to offer my advice," she reached into the pocket of her coat. "He didn't really need it but I think he wanted someone to tell him he'd made the right choice. We had a lovely afternoon, after he'd made his purchase we had tea at the railway hotel." She smiled at the memory; the sight of him as he'd watched them wrap his purchase, the way he had spoken about the preparations for the wedding, the lightness of his tread. "He was happy Mrs Hughes. So very happy that you had agreed to be his wife. He knew that he was a better man for loving you and Lord knows I understood that. He... he asked me to look after this for him." She held out the simple gold band on the palm of her hand. There was a muffled sob and she looked up from her own hand to the woman next to her. "I wasn't sure whether to give it to you. The last thing that I would want is to distress you further but... he would have wanted you to have it." Trembling fingers, delicate but strong, shaped by years of hard physical work reached out to take the ring.  
"Thank you," she breathed, her cheeks wet with tears.  
"I... I spoke to Grandmama..." Mary continued, trying to find the clear concise words she preferred. She'd gone the Dower House because she needed someone to tell her this was the right thing to do but knowing her Grandmother would tell her if she wasn't. Too often she had been given sage advice from that quarter that she had not taken and rued for years to come. "...she thought you might like this." Mary pulled a gold chain from the velvet pouch she had kept both pieces in.  
"I..." the other woman tried, offering a watery smile when her words failed. "Would you...?"  
"Oh," Mary said, realising what she was being asked. "Of course." Carefully and with reverence, she took the chain and fed it through the ring before standing and walking behind the bench.  
"I'm afraid that you'd be better with Anna than me for this," she admitted as her fingers fumbled.  
"Not at all, Your Ladyship. How is Anna?"  
"Well I think, though neither she nor Baxter will be vying to take your post permanently." There was a gentle snort from the housekeeper just as Mary managed to fasten the catch.   
"There we are." It was a strange sort of satisfaction she found, as she rounded the bench again. She sat quietly, as Mrs Hughes played with the ring along the chain. Mary didnt place much weight in such things as as a general rule, which was probably to be considered a bonus given some of the events of her life to date, but that moment she felt somehow lighter than she had when she had arrived.  
"I thought I might take a walk through the churchyard," Mrs Hughes said after a time, "if Your Ladyship would like to join me." Mary tried to read her expression, to judge whether she was being invited out of propriety or a genuine desire for the company. It struck her however that while the housekeeper had always been respectful she had never before pandered to them.   
"I think I would like that very much, thank you Mrs Hughes."

They walked slowly side by side along the path, each absorbed in their own thoughts. A young family crossed the square, all boisterous energy and skinned knees and Mary felt a familiar twinge as she thought of Georgie. He'd asked her last night if he could have a story from 'son, one with voices. She'd been struck silent for a moment, unable to fathom how she'd never even realised that he'd visited the nursery to read to another generation of Crawleys. Edith had rescued her in the end but it had made her realise that there was another male figure that had been stolen away from the children. Tom was gone and she missed Matthew fiercely as she tried to drag her thoughts away from her father's mortality. It wasn't like her to dwell on the inevitable but there were days when it seemed that simply everything was but a house of cards, ready to fall at the first provocation.  
"Lady Mary?" The quiet enquiry brought he back to herself.  
"I fear I'm spending too much time with my sister the writer, my thoughts have become far too poetic."  
"Poetry has its place, Your Ladyship." The gentle challenge in this statement reminded her fiercely of the sort if thing Carson had said to her in the past.  
"You know that you will be welcome back as soon as you're ready," Mary said abruptly, "but you mustn't come back at all if that isn't what's right for you." They'd come to a halt just in front of the freshly turned grave and stood there sharing the silence.   
"He's everywhere," Mrs Hughes said eventually, "I'm not sure that if I never set foot in the Abbey or even the village again, it would make any difference."  
"The memories that are so difficult now will be a comfort eventually," Mary said, "...more often than not in any case." Mrs Hughes smiled softly at this, her hand drifting back up to the chain around her neck. Neither of them spoke but somehow they didn't really need to. Mary couldn't have said how long they stood, before the older woman reached for her handkerchief and dried her face.  
"I'll be eternally grateful for the time I've had away Your Ladyship," she said with the familiar practicality, "but I think I'm ready to come home."  
"Well, thank heaven for that!" Mary said with an easy smile.  
"I'll take that as a compliment shall I, Milady?"  
"Please do," she said, surprised at her own relief.  
"I think I'll enjoy being able to tell him how young Thomas is getting along," she said a little wistfully, "And about Anna and Mr Bates. Maybe even prove him wrong about Mr Molesley and Miss Baxter."  
"He always was the last to know wasn't he?"  
"Only when it came to love, Lady Mary. Only that." An air of melancholy returned but it was neither so deep nor as long lasting as she felt it might have been earlier. "I think he'd like to know that there was someone there for young Master George and Miss Marigold," the housekeeper continued, "someone to host tea parties for teddy bears on wet afternoons, or read them silly stories, and" she paused, "I think I would like to be the one to offer them a sixpence to spend in the village if they ever wanted to run away." Mary looked up from the plain grave marker, taken aback for a moment, she smiled though as fondness and gratitude spilled from the memory and she felt her own tears welling up.  
"I think I would like that too."

**Author's Note:**

> As always I'd love to hear what you think - thanks for reading!


End file.
